


Criminally Insane

by Ariel_Riddle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Healer Hermione Granger, Past Joker/Harleen Quinzel, Possessive Draco Malfoy, S&R:CRW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Riddle/pseuds/Ariel_Riddle
Summary: A Dramione tale with a Joker/Harley twist. Hermione is a Healer-in-training tasked with a very difficult patient at St. Mungo's Ward for the Criminally Insane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: We were talking about this idea in a couple of Facebook groups. A few people wanted to take the idea on and more people wanted to read a Joker/Harley take on Dramione, myself included! Here's my take on it, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also- It's really tough to write a Hermione like this when she is so intelligent and strong! It's also a little challenging to write Draco the way he is in this story. That being said, the characters may be slightly OOC, but I tried to justify their actions and make it as believable as possible!
> 
> Beta Love to: SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 & Sandra-Sempra
> 
> Disclaimer: All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! XxX

 

**~*OoOoO*~**

She really shouldn't have pushed for the case.

As much as she wanted the notoriety, the distinguishment that came with cracking such an impossible patient—she couldn't fully suppress the flickering feeling of doom that swelled up inside of her chest, before she roughly shoved it aside.

Instinct.

She should probably trust her instinct. It screamed _caution_ , and rarely was it wrong—if ever. Even so, the last thing she wanted to do was rein back her ambition. Her inner lioness roared against the notion as if it were unthinkable—blasphemous even! Why should she squander the opportunity for success? Especially a success of this magnitude! She simply _couldn't_. It didn't matter what funny feeling was circulating in her gut, the promise of glory among her peers far outshadowed it.

Prudence and rationality.

Her best friends.

She always let those feelings guide her, let them _rule her._ But now, it was time to exercise a little spontaneity, some _recklessness._ One did not go about making the impossible possible by any sort of logical method—there was simply no room for it. If she were to tackle this particular case it was mandatory she employ a bit of creativity.

That's all.

Use her imagination.

It was not a muscle she was often given reason to flex. She had chosen her career as a Healer with her sights set on Head Psychological Healer simply for the opportunity to continue learning. Next to Unspeakables, Healers had the highest security clearance when it came to the material they were permitted to obtain.

Regulated material.

Books, tomes, and scrolls that would have been restricted to her before. As a Healer, it was necessary to study all branches of magic—light or dark—to ascertain what sort of dark curses and jinxes their patient could present with. She selected a field that would never go stagnant or bore her. There was always a cure to be found, a riddle to unravel. St. Mungos stood on the forefront of magical breakthroughs.

And her residency?

Psychological Healers were denied _nothing_.

No one at the Ministry batted an eye when a certain book was requested or information was needed. Her thirst for knowledge was in no risk of being limited. It really was all she hoped for in a career, post Hogwarts.

She simply had to tackle the next case, and the next, before being one step closer to finishing her residency. Had a Resident Psychological Healer ever been permitted such a high security level patient? Probably not, but that only served to flare her ego. It helped being a hero of the wizarding world, member of the Golden Trio, and Harry Potter's best friend. Coupled with the fact that the certified Healers had already tried, _and failed,_ with the case, it had actually been ridiculously easy.

 _But,_ a voice, highly unwanted, nagged inside her head, _it is Draco Malfoy. Merlin, but he tortured you in school. Do you really think he'll talk to you when he won't to anyone else?_

She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat.

That didn't matter.

A mere bump in the road and that was all. Who cares if he'd muttered obscenities at her? Called her a filthy _mudblood._ They were children then—it had been years. Six, precisely. And what had he been doing? Rotting in St Mungo's ward for the criminally insane? Denied visitors and basically anything resembling comfort? Even a haughty Pureblood like him couldn't be too picky.

_He will talk to me—I'll get him to._

Failure was simply not an option, not for Hermione Granger, nee Weasley.

A pang of sadness flitted across her mind at the thought of her all-too recent divorce. It was _fine_ —obviously it wasn't her fault. Obviously it was for the better. Ron had always despised the way she'd thrown herself into school, why should work have been any different? Really, it wasn't even fair to him. He wanted a wife that wanted to settle down and have children— _loads of them_. He could certainly do that, only not with her. She was not done in her pursuit of knowledge by half. Being a teenage war hero would not be the crowning point in her life. There were other successes she need only reach for, _unhindered._ It was for the best, and she held no animosity for her marriage however fleeting it turned out to be.

Fueled by adrenaline thrumming at her temples, she continued down the white hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She pushed the negative thoughts aside, and clutched her briefcase to her chest, setting her mind to focus on the task ahead.

_I will crack the impossible._

**~*OoOoO*~**

Draco pressed his head against the cold wall, angling it to see through the opening and down the hall with the limited space afforded him.

It was a small opening.

Large enough to stick his hand through if the act wouldn't cause him a tremendous amount pain.

_Sodding St. Mungos and their penchant for restriction wards._

It was sometimes fun to stick his hand through it anyway, _different,_ and anything different was good. It reminded him that he was alive—that he wasn't merely an apparition barely on the cusp of existence. It was...one of very few pleasures afforded to him.

But he didn't feel like doing that right now.

He sensed something. More than just the powerful wards buzzing and thrumming underneath the surface of his prison walls. It was a stirring—something distinctly unique that indicated a presence other than his own shared the space of the vacant hall, a hallway all his own where he was segregated from the other patients. Really, Azkaban would have been loads better. He'd take dementors over solitude any day. He _was supposed_ to be in Azkaban, yet he'd been punished in the worse way by being banished here instead.

He almost regretted biting into that poor sod's neck. _Wiggins, was it?_

Perhaps he should have played the game instead of watching the wizard's blood spill over Draco's bare feet, relishing the coppery flavor so different from the meals he was usually provided through a tube.

He'd not had a visitor since. There was no need for anyone to call on him when magic would suffice.

It all could have been avoided if he would have said the right things, coaxed the words out of his throat and been done with it. But he couldn't manage it. Nothing was worse than swallowing his pride—that was the one thing they hadn't been successful in ripping from him. He'd be damned if he gave the onslaught of witches and wizards the Ministry had sent him anything of real value.

So he wallowed in misery.

Alone with nothing but his mad thoughts to entertain him, growing even madder still as the days went on.

Except for today.

Today he sensed the disturbance, and it wasn't long before he heard the footsteps echoing, getting ever louder. There was only one room to draw to on this Salazar-forsaken hall.

His.

He smirked evilly at the realization, thinking that this was better than Yule, complete with towers of presents waiting for him to unwrap.

No.

This was much better.

Because the person who approached was a female. His nostrils flared at the distinctly feminine scent. His ears perked at the sound of heels, _not mere trainers,_ clicking ever closer to him.

They'd sent him a witch—were they mad? Perhaps they should occupy the ward right along with him.

His stomach gave a hopeful leap. He drew away from the opening, pressing his back against the wall of his confinements.

This held the promise for... _entertainment_.

**~*OoOoO*~**

Hermione's nerves were in a frenzy by the time she'd reached the end of the hall. She gripped her wand, taking comfort in the familiar smooth touch of the vine wood.

It wouldn't do to stop.

He would hear her come to a halt.

He had to know she was there even now. One's senses were heightened when they were deprived as his were.

Clenching her jaw, she cut her wand through the air, forcing a doorway to appear between the invisible wards and blank walls.

Her eyes drew to him immediately.

His orange hospital suit stood out against the whiteness of the room.

She didn't meet his eyes, instead she stepped confidently inside and swished her wand again, using the distraction of appearing the table and two chairs as a means to get her thoughts in order. Even so, she still felt his gaze on her, carefully following her every movement.

Finally, she took a seat, facing where he still sat flush up against the wall.

"Malfoy." She was immensely pleased she was able to suppress the tremor from her voice. "Won't you please take a seat?"

She gestured to the chair she had conjured, but he merely stayed motionless. It was a bit daunting to be skewered with that silver stare of his, but she'd been prepared for it. She erected a mask of indifference in the face of his silent appraisal, not displaying in the least just how jarred she was by it.

"Malfoy," she repeated, absently straightening the wrinkles that had formed on her skirt. "I won't ask you again." She lifted her brows and pointed back again at the chair, making it clear in her eyes she would not wait patiently forever.

She was worried he wouldn't obey once more, and she was having trouble enough not giving into the urge to stand and flee. The man was unnerving, and Merlin but how he'd changed! She hardly recognized him. Gone were the gaunt, pointy angles she'd remembered since the last time she'd seen him. He was much more filled out. She steeled herself against a flinch when she noticed the markings and scars present on his bared forearms and neck. Still, he looked a sight better than he had since being apprehended by Aurors. All but his eyes. Empty. Hollow. Slightly unhinged. She pushed away the inclination to bite her lip as her nerves surfaced once more.

His voice, when he spoke, was gravelly from disuse. "Have you come to hurt me too, Granger?"

Whatever she'd been prepared to say shriveled up and died on her tongue. "What?" she sputtered. "I wouldn't...that is...I'm a Healer. Well, a Healer-in-training. Psychological division, obviously—." _Oh dear Merlin._ Was she rambling? Yes she was rambling! Of all the possible turns she would have anticipated this conversation to take, she never would have expected that answer.

But he _had_ answered her.

He'd actually broke his silence and spoke to her! That was loads further than anyone else had managed.

Fueled by triumph, she regained her composure in an effort to better address him. "What I mean to say, Malfoy, is I'm a Healer-in-training in the final year of my residency, and I've been assigned your case." She beamed at him, half expecting him to be impressed, but his face was unreadable. "I can assure you; my credentials are top notch."

"I thought the Ministry was through sending anyone to me."

 _Yes! He is still speaking to me._ This was going so much better than she'd initially expected it to. "The Ministry believes you have information that might help with an...issue that's arisen as of late. I've been authorized to appeal on your behalf, should you present with entail that is helpful to us."

" _Appeal on my behalf_." He drew up from the floor and Hermione was struck by how tall he was. Had he been that height the last time she'd seen him? "Appeal for things like...the right to eat as any normal person does, without liquid food just appearing into my stomach?"

She suppressed a grimace. "Well, yes. You do recall that you don't have the most excellent track record with guards, orderlies, and Healers. There are consequences for your actions."

Malfoy gracefully walked towards the chair before sitting down on it. "I haven't shared another's company for several years. I haven't felt the sun on my face for longer, still. Are these the type of privileges you've been permitted to allow me?"

"Well, I'm not sure about _all that._ " She wrinkled her nose at the impossible suggestion. "But I can always ask for things on your behalf—so long as it's reasonable—so long as you cooperate."

"Narc, you mean," he deadpanned.

Hermione bristled in her seat. "No, that's not what I mean at all. You mustn't look at it that way."

He sat quietly observing her, and she got that disturbing feeling of unease again in her gut. He was quite off putting, and she preferred it when he spoke to her. When he did break the silence, she was once more, taken by surprise. "You're friends would really allow you to meet with a Death Eater, all by your lonesome?"

He genuinely did seem shocked by the notion, which made her all the more defensive. "Your concern is appreciated, but I'm hardly a helpless witch."

His eyes gleamed as a smirk tugged on his lips. "If school were any indication, I would imagine you've grown to be a rather capable witch."

She knew she should not allow herself to feel smug by the blatant compliment, but she was hardpressed to ignore the flicker of pride that shot through her. "I can hold my own," she confirmed.

He shook his head sadly. "What a waste—you'd have made a fantastic dark witch."

Hermione felt her temper flare hotly. "Too bad I happened to be born of Muggles, then," she scorned cruelly.

"That was never what it was about."

"Oh?" Within an instant, her curiosity was peaked and her ire forgotten. "Then what, pray tell, _was it about_?"

She hoped her eyes did not give away how hungry she was for the answer. By the gleam in his depthless grey orbs, she doubted she had managed to conceal it completely.

"Power," he answered simply.

It was a very anti-climatic answer, yet she still felt a shiver shoot down her spine.

"At any rate," she said, determined to steer the conversation back in the direction she wanted it to go. "We aren't here to talk about me." She narrowed her eyes pointedly.

"We're here for you to extract any secrets the Aurors with their truth serums and torture methods failed to extract?"

Her lip curled at the brass allegation. "Torture methods—."

"What makes you think I'd divulge anything to you I've refused to reveal thus far?"

Hermione swallowed discreetly, internally preparing her appeal. "You've been down here for a long time, Malfoy. Whatever your reasons were for not revealing all you knew before could have shifted after so much time spent in solitude. What's more, I want to help you. I care about your health, first and foremost, and I don't believe anyone is beyond saving—you included."

"You're here to help me?" He lifted his brows in disbelief.

"That's right. If you'd only work with me, I think you would have a much better time of it. I may not be able to get you all the things you want, but I certainly would be able to manage proper meals and reading material—I know how much your studies meant to you."

"What a seductive offer."

Hermione felt her skin prickle at his words, but brushed the odd feeling aside. "Face it, Malfoy—you need me on your side—I can help you _get better_."

Malfoy's smirk made her decidedly uneasy. "Or rather, you need me."

"What?" She leaned forward on the table, furrowing her brows in confusion.

"It's obvious the only reason you're here is because the Ministry needs me—desperately. I imagine there's been Death Eater activity."

"I didn't say tha—."

"And the Aurors wonder if there's anything buried deep inside this shell of a mad men that may have been grazed over before, despite your allegation you're only here to help."

"Your state of being is my top priority."

She flinched as he lurched forward quickly, purging the scant distance between them with his hand, but it stopped mid-air, colliding with the previously invisible ward she'd erected, that now shimmered a glittery silver hue.

She expected him to scream with the pain of pressing against the ward and snatch his hand away quickly, but he dragged it back lazily, all the while watching her with the sharp eyes of a predator.

"I guess you're protected after all."

"There were some changes made after last time," she begrudgingly informed him.

He nodded, awareness crystallizing in his grey eyes. "Suppose, Granger, that there is no more information hidden within me, and that the Auror's hopes that there are is merely a pipedream."

Hermione sighed, making a valiant attempt to regain her composure. "As I told you, I want to help you."

"If that's true," he said with a look that could only be described as challenging. "Come back tomorrow, and I'll let you know what I decide."

She straightened from her seat, grabbing her briefcase and clenching her wand for good measure. That was good, better than him outright refusing at least. What was more, this whole thing was rather intense and she could use the time to reconvene.

"Alright, Malfoy. Sleep on it."

**~*OoOoO*~**

Hermione wasn't sure why she'd agreed to join her friends in Muggle London. She'd much rather have spent the evening in her flat, curled up by the fire with a large book in hand. She'd only agreed because Pansy had Owl'd her that she'd be bringing Marcus.

It was an odd thing to go to drinks with your ex husband and his new girlfriend.

Cho had told her she must be a saint to tolerate it, but strangely enough, Ron and Pansy together didn't bother her in the slightest. However much she deplored the former Slytherin at school, Pansy was actually the easiest to talk to out of all of them.

It was Ginny that made her want to feign sickness and leave.

The fiery red-head hadn't stopped staring daggers at her since Hermione's divorce the year before. She couldn't understand it, especially when it was abundantly clear Ron had moved on.

"When will Marcus be arriving?" she asked to no one in particular, as she absently sipped the coppery liquid in her tankard.

"He won't be making it," Ginny was quick to inform her, placing a possessive hand on Harry's forearm. "Mandatory Quidditch practice."

Hermione wondered if she was simply imagining the look of malice that passed over Ginny's face.

"Sorry, Hermione," Pansy was quick to inject, looking truly remorseful. "It was last minute. We'll try to plan things better next time?"

She attempted to conceal her shock at the notion she would even care in the first place. "It's alright, really. I was just wondering because you had said he was coming. I don't especially want to have drinks with him."

Ginny shot her a scornful look.

"Don't be rude, 'Mione," Ron told her, and she grimaced against the blatant order she had at one time been used to.

"She isn't being rude," Pansy interjected. "She just isn't actively looking for someone right now. Isn't that right, Hermione?"

She gripped the hem of her cocktail dress harshly. "Can we _please_ talk about something else?"

"She isn't looking for anyone," Ron said, openly ignoring her request. "All that, job comes first, and what-not."

Pansy drew up from her seat, tugging Ron with her. "Come on, darling. Let's go and get a refill."

"I'll go with you," Ginny said getting up quickly. Then she looked pointedly to Harry. "Aren't you coming?"

"Our drinks are still full," Harry stated the obvious, pointing to his and Hermione's drinks.

If looks could kill, Hermione and Harry would be done for.

The trio walked off and Hermione felt like she could breath again. "What was that about?"

"Oh, it's just Ginny," Harry answered absently. "She's been bad lately."

"Still sore over Ron and I's breakup, _all these months later?_ "

"That, and…" Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Spit it out, Harry."

His cheeks flamed crimson as he rushed the words out. "She thinks the real reason you two ended things was because you had your eye on someone else."

Hermione, ever the sharp one, sat back angrily. "Had my eye on you, you mean?"

Harry swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Well, yes. I suppose it's a theory her and Ron came up with."

"They think I'm pining after a married man with a child?"

"I know it sounds silly." But then his green eyes looked up, and bored into hers. "It is silly, right?"

 _Oh dear Merlin!_ Hermione was hard-pressed to find her breath. Was that hope...or smugness that had flitted through his gaze? She could _not_ deal with this now. She was already the monster that broke up one half of _the-Golden-Couple,_ she didn't need anymore hits to her already wrecked reputation. The Prophet had already taken Ron's side in the scandal. The only thing that really mattered was her work, and cutting a path for herself that no one else had before. She needed this about as much as she needed a bludger to her head.

"Erm...Harry." She quickly pulled away and got up from her seat. "So sorry, but I need to be going now. I simply can't do this."

"Hermione, wait—."

She refused to turn back. "Tell the others goodbye for me." She rushed out the door before anything else soured the night, and hurried down the street until she was a safe ways away to Apparate.

**~*OoOoO*~**

She had thought her second meeting would be less nerve-wracking, that she would have been used to the awkwardness of the situation.

She had thought wrong.

When Hermione returned the next day, her heart was hammering in her chest, and she worked desperately to calm her frantic nerves. What if her potential patient declined her request to be seen? The dread surging in her chest was difficult to ignore.

She wasn't sure why it meant to much to her.

The urge for fame and notoriety that came with tackling such a difficult case was still there, but surprisingly muted. If she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that what she craved more than anything was to be Malfoy's Healer. It was hardly about the accolades she would surely receive if she were successful, it more had to do with Malfoy himself.

He'd pushed everyone else away so far. Suppose she was the one that wasn't pushed away? Suppose he opened up to her! The desire for him to say _yes_ was on the forefront of her mind. Malfoy was a brilliant man—of that she was sure. Psychotic, but also brilliant.

Sure she'd bested him in school, and the both of them greedily soaked up most if not all Hogwarts had to offer, but he went on and furthered his education post school. The fact that the education was fostered by Death Eaters was a moot point. It was something she didn't know. He'd hinted heavily at it. Why should that go to waste? It would be sacrilege.

Besides, Malfoy deserved another chance.

She wasn't sure anyone deserved to live in such a pitiful state, _even him,_ and if there was a hope she could make life better for him, that would become her purpose.

When she'd entered the cell, fist tightly enclosed around her wand, she carefully performed the necessary spells, dispelling her excitement and shoving it aside. It was time to be professional. Malfoy would be watching her with that calculating gaze of his, and it was important she kept the upper hand.

She turned to face the invisible barrier, surprised when she saw Malfoy move automatically to the chair she had appeared. He sat down robotically, listlessly, even, and a muscle twitched by her eye. Did this mean he would deny her? She had not evaluated him long enough to determine what his behavior meant.

"Malfoy," she greeted, injecting pleasantness in her tone. "Good afternoon. Have you thought about my proposal."

He inclined his head ever so slightly. "I have."

She could barely sit still in her chair, and it took an immense amount of effort to conceal her excitement. "And," she hedged.

"I have some concerns."

"Oh." Her stomach dropped slightly as she pondered what his concerns could possibly be.

"I thought about what you said, and I can't help but wonder, will Clemmens be making an impromptu visit?"

"Well, he is the Head Healer, it's possible—."

"I don't want Clemmens anywhere near me," he said with such finality, Hermione's lips parted in shock. "I'm better off with him forgetting I'm here."

"Why's that?" The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it.

"Before, he visited me frequently." His tone was abruptly gentle and she was surprised by the shift. "He's rather fond of practicing the trifecta on me, sans the Avada."

_Dear God._

Surprise flooded her features. "You couldn't possibly mean…"

Malfoy's features were open and vulnerable. He meant exactly what he's said.

"If that's true, Malfoy, Clemmens could lose his position."

He shook his head. "No one would believe him over me, I'm nutters, remember?"

She swallowed audibly, flicking a renegade curl that had come loose from her bun back behind her ear. She didn't believe him of course, he was only trying to get a rise out of her. "I'll try to keep Clemmens off of the case."

"His favorite curse is the Imperius. He likes to put me under the spell and have me stick my hands through the wards, gets a kick out of it."

Wait.

That sounded far too detailed to be a lie. Could it be possible he was telling the truth? And if he was, what could she do? Start an investigation? Get Clemmens wand checked for dark arts? Perhaps she could, but Merlin, she was only a resident! She had very little clout in the department.

"If you're telling the truth, these are serious allegations."

"I don't want you to do anything with them." He paused before leaning his elbows on the table. "I just want you to know. It's nothing I can't take. A little Crucio is good for you—keeps you on your toes."

"But you said—."

"I don't want him stealing your thunder, Granger. If I allow you to see me, if there's any help you're able to offer me, I want you to get all the credit."

Well...that was mutually beneficial.

"I can assure you it's not about that."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," she replied quickly. There was no way she was going to defend Clemmen. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep him away from you."

Malfoy smiled widely. "Good."

"Was there anything else?"

He paused for a moment, flexing his fingers in a contemplative gesture. "You said we can only talk about me, but I don't like that. If I ask you something, I'd appreciate an honest answer. It's only fair."

"Malfoy, that's highly—."

"Within reason," he amended.

"All right," she agreed. " _Within reason_."

"Then my answer is yes."

Outwardly, Hermione only smiled politely. Inwardly, she preened in delight.

**~*OoOoO*~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Sweet Morgana! I was not expecting that sort of response for this story! I'm super pleased so many are interested, and your reviews are lovely to read. I must tell you, this will be a shorter story. Probably five or six chapters? (It was supposed to be a oneshot!) But you know how I sometimes deviate from that *winks* Regardless, this isn't a slow burn and things will move quickly. I hope it will be a fun descent into madness. Happy reading!**
> 
> Beta Love to: SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 & Sandra-Sempra

****

**~*OoOoO*~**

Malfoy stood pacing around the room. Hermione sat patiently, her quill poised in her hand.

It was difficult to remain dispassionate as Malfoy recounted tales of his childhood. Oh, outwardly she knew she was supposed to express mild interest, _concern,_ but above all, her training demanded she stay objective. That was near impossible where her sessions with Malfoy were concerned.

He was such a passionate speaker.

Charming and engaging. She inwardly mused that he could have definitely become a leader had his brain not become addled by frequent use of the Dark Arts.

Because the way he was telling it, he'd started rather young.

Her heart went out to him. How could she not feel sympathy? Malfoy had to deal with so much at such a young age, and it only got exponentially greater as time went on. No one could really say they understood unless they went through the same and managed to come out unscathed. Kudos to them if they did, but she imagined there were very few, if any.

"But your father loved you," she hedged. "Merlin, but he was always in your affairs, making sure you had the best of the best! There had to be love behind that."

" _Love_ ," he scorned cruelly, as if the word tasted bitter on his tongue. "Not bloody likely. We were mere objects, myself and my mother."

She flinched at the brutality of it. She couldn't imagine a father not loving his son, casting abusive spells on his son, even! How Malfoy had managed to cope was beyond her.

Instantly, Malfoy whirled around and in three quick paces was right in front of her, instinctively seeming to know just where the barrier was. " _Please_ , Granger," his tone was pleading. "Please can we talk about anything else?"

Hermione wanted to place her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but couldn't thanks to the blasted wards. "Of course, Malfoy." There was no need to feign the sympathy in her voice—it was pure. "How about you tell me something that made you feel good? How did you cope with the trauma of your home life?"

He sat heavily down on his chair, his chest rising and falling in shallow pants. "I had scores of witches."

Erm...that hadn't been exactly where she'd meant to push the conversation.

He glanced over at her and Hermione could barely suppress her discomfort. "I'm an exceptional lover," he continued. "But nothing compares to the power you feel, the indescribable _pleasure,_ when submitting to the Dark Arts."

Her throat got suddenly dry. "So that was your outlet?" She somehow remembered to mark her parchment.

"The best sort of outlet." He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see how—."

"There's so much information the Ministry keeps from us, so much _knowledge_. They say things like light and dark to scare you, but really, dark magic is just an extension of light magic."

"Only on the opposite side of the spectrum," she couldn't help but snark.

"The powerful side. I'm talking about the magic that really gets your blood pumping, the kind that floods your body with energy, invigorates you, makes you feel invincible."

"But no one really is _invincible,_ are they Malfoy? It's merely a feeling, a _deceitful feeling_. The whole thing is no different than a Muggle drug."

His steel, grey eyes found her, and trapped her. "So the Ministry wants us to believe. The truth is, the Dark Arts are mysterious—there's so much we don't know and will never learn because it's kept under the guise of it being dangerous. The knowledge is held from us, _for our protection._ Talk about deceit."

That was new.

Hermione had never considered that.

Of course that couldn't really be the reason the Ministry and the schools regulate such information. They regulated it because it was dangerous. She told him so.

"It is dangerous," he agreed. "Not everyone possesses the skill to wield it."

What a seductive notion. One that had no business being in her brain. She pushed the thought aside, lest it take root and grow into something she couldn't so easily ignore.

**~*OoOoO*~**

Hermione took a deep sip of her wine before resting her head back on the marble tub and letting the hot, potion-riddled water seep through her skin and relax her tired muscles.

Harry had Owl'd her, asking if she would meet him for lunch. She couldn't even be bothered to write a response. What could she possibly have to tell him? The whole thing had been positively mortifying and if Ginny already had reason to believe Hermione had sights set on Ginny's man after dropping _her brother_ , the last thing Hermione needed to do was be seen with Harry in public.

She didn't feel like it anyway.

Her mind was consumed with other things. Malfoy was forever prevalent in her thoughts these days. Clemmens had been surprised when she'd initially told him Malfoy was seeing her. The look of shock on his face was actually rather comical and satisfying. She purposefully withheld details of how extensive her progress really was. Even so, Clemmens had, of course wanted to inject himself in the case, what with being the Senior Psychological Healer on the ward, but Hermione had insisted he not come with her, explaining that her trust was still very fragile with Malfoy, and she needed to make headway alone for now. Clemmens had reluctantly agreed and permitted her to spend as much time as she required on the project.

Hermione knew many thought her mission with Malfoy was nothing but a harmless indulgence. There was no way for him to hurt her, and no one really believed he had information relative to the current Death Eater activity. Clemmens probably only wanted to tag along to take some kind of sadistic pleasure in Malfoy's dejected state, if what Malfoy told her about Clemmens held any clout, but in the very least, she would be free to determine that for herself, whilst still working on her dissertation for her residency—perhaps Malfoy could play a role in that? It would make for an interesting piece, if she were to include anything about her meetings with the Death Eater in her dissertation, that was sure.

She couldn't help but shudder when she'd left Clemmens' presence.

The idea that the Head Healer could really be prone to such behavior and the use of such spells was horrifying. Hermione resolved to _not_ ignore the concern like Malfoy had asked her to, but she could see no way to bring it up without first breaking his trust and risking her career.

And if the investigation came up clear, not only would her reputation be tarnished for making claims against an innocent person, but she likely wouldn't be permitted to see Malfoy again. She wasn't sure what was worse.

Seeing Malfoy was very nearly the highlight of her job. She simply couldn't get _that_ taken away. Besides, it was more than evident that he needed her. They were making undeniable progress and she'd be damned if she let anyone get in the way of that.

She was so happy to _not_ be out with her friends this evening.

Would they send a search party for her if she refused more get-togethers? They would probably draw lots to see who was stuck with the task, and then would hopefully, blessedly, give up after a time.

That was fine.

She found she had less and less in common with her friends each day. Whatever it was that drove them was not the same as what drove her.

She thought back to her patient. It had really rocked her to the core about what he said regarding his father. Somehow, everything about Malfoy and the way he acted in school made sense now. He was raised to believe he was special and set apart from everyone, first for being a wizard, then for being a Pureblood, and finally for being a Malfoy. His father had so much as beat it in his head, harping the Pureblood rhetoric on his son until it become as natural as breathing, It really did account for so much.

Another thought nagged at her mind. Malfoy had actually touched on his time with the Death Eaters for a brief moment.

Power.

Was that envy she had been feeling when he explained to her how thrilling it was to practice dark magic? He'd said it was pleasurable, _as good sex_ , if not more so.

It was mind-boggling.

Hermione did feel a flare of adrenaline when she cast a particularly powerful spell, but was throwing a dark curse really so much more gratifying? The thought tickled at her mind, making her fingers itch — for her wand? — until she was forced to grab the crystal wine glass none to gently and take another long drink.

It wasn't as if she wanted to ascertain the information for herself…

...that was just silly.

**~*OoOO*~**

"I'm tired of talking about myself. You're so much more interesting." Malfoy smirked wryly at her.

Hermione could not help but preen under the compliment. After being told night and day by her friends how her priorities were _entirely skewed_ , it was nice to converse with a fellow knowledge-seeker like herself that seemed to appreciate and respect her quest for learning.

Of course—it was just her luck that he happened to be batshit-crazy.

Still, she saw so much of herself in him.

It was worth noting Malfoy was not stupid. He'd been second only to her in their final year at Hogwarts. He may have even given her more competition had he not been so distracted in Sixth Year. Malfoy told her about the stress of doing the Dark Lord's bidding, and having no one but a moping ghost to talk to.

Hermione wished she had been that person he'd confided in.

A flare of unfamiliar jealousy arose in her when she thought of Myrtle, but she quickly shoved it away and did her best to ignore it.

Healer training 101: do not get too attached to your patient.

"We're getting off topic," she informed him in a crisp tone. "We discussed your parents and home life yesterday. Can you tell me more about your time in Seventh Year? Obviously I hadn't seen you much, save for that regrettable meeting at your manor."

"I didn't oust you, did I?"

"Well...no," she admitted. "But you weren't much help in our release. If it hadn't been for Dobby…"

Malfoy's jaw tightened and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"We may have never escaped for Harry to live another day and square off with Voldemort."

"You shouldn't say that name," he reprimanded her.

"Why? He's dead, isn't he?" It was a rhetorical question of course, but something dark had passed over his eyes rather quickly, and she couldn't put her finger on just what it had been,

"I had struggled with it then, but when I practiced more and more—."

"Practiced?"

"Dark curses."

"Oh." There was that prickling sensation again, as if she were missing something she rather wished she was clued in on.

"I learned something about myself."

She eyed him appraisingly. "What did you learn?"

"I liked the way it made me feel to cast those sorts of spells"

"What of the innocent people you hurt?" Her inner lioness roared at the injustice.

"If they were so weak as to be unable to fend for themselves, they deserved what they got."

"That's just the type of philosophy we need to work to break down, Malfoy." She shook her head, scratching her quill over the parchment in front of her. "Those in a position of power should not simply abuse said power merely to make themselves feel better."

His face visibly strained as he mulled over her words. "I suppose that makes sense."

Hermione smiled. "Of course it does. We'll work on it together."

"But how can you possibly understand if you've never experienced what it's like to wield such power over others?"

She frowned at the suggestion. "I don't have to experience it to know—."

"You live in a loop. You constantly do what others tell you and rarely get to revel in the exquisite freedom that comes from living a life where you make your own rules."

"That's called anarchy."

"How did you feel when you cast the Prexiest curse at Rabastan that day in the department of Mysteries? My father saw you, you know."

Hermione blanched at the blatant reminder he gave her of a time when she had indeed wielded dark magic.

"Or when you kept Skeeter in a jar, or turned Umbridge over to angry centaurs?" He leaned forward earnestly, and abruptly she felt like she was the one being evaluated. "Admit it, Granger. Don't lie to me."

"Admit what?" she asked blankly.

"It felt good."

The words reverberated through her mind. Good? Had it really? It couldn't have. She couldn't really remember, that was such a terrifying time in her life.

"Or maybe you didn't do it _right_ , maybe you didn't do it with _meaning_ , relishing in the dark energy as it courses through your arm and directs into your wand."

His words washed over her like a venomous caress. It wasn't fair that they sounded so good. They most definitely should not sound so appealing.

"You felt a thrill," he continued. "I know you did. That's how it was with the Dark Lord, except magnified a hundredfold. Under his tutelage, no one can escape the call to the Dark Arts."

" Malfoy," Instinctively, her hand reached out to touch his face, momentarily forgetting the searing hot ward that separated them, Her hand burned instantly, causing her to lurch back in pain, and cradle her throbbing hand. How had he not reacted more strongly when he'd done the same? Something twisted violently in her chest, and she wanted nothing more than to give the deprived man the human touch he'd been yearning for.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said between gritted teeth, as she got to her feet and reached for her wand.

His eyes widened in alarm as she pointed it at him. Nonverbally, she cast the binding spell that elongated his sleeves and wrapped them restrictively around his chest.

"What are you doing?"

Neglecting to answer him, she turned her attention to the blasted ward and directed her raging magic to attack it ferociously until it splintered into nothingness.

The air was immediately different.

She glanced at Malfoy whose breathing had grown ragged.

"Are you going to hurt me?" It was odd echoing his words back to him.

"No." The solemn look in his eyes was enough to convince her.

She approached his side of the table, and perched on top of it. She leaned forward slowly, reaching her hand to lesson the distance between them until it came to rest on the side of his face. They both gasped at the contact, only his gasp morphed into a barely muffled groan.

She trusted him.

Trusted him explicitly.

She slid to the left until she was directly in front of him and allowed him to nuzzle his head in her open palm. Her fingertips brushed against silky tresses and without a moment's hesitation, she carded her fingers through his soft blond hair, relishing the feel of it.

His eyes sparkled with barely suppressed longing and Hermione had a brief moment of panic, as if she was toeing the line of a massive abyss and one step forward would have her falling—careening—into a dark and mysterious place she couldn't begin to fathom. Her instinct told her to pull back—that was the rational thing, but…

He was pulling her forward.

Maybe not physically, but it was like she was drawn to him like metal to a magnet, and she was helpless to ignore the pull.

He needed her.

Not ghosts.

Death Eaters.

Power.

But her!

The thought was intoxicating, but also abruptly jarring,

She pulled her hand away quickly, only just realizing what she'd done. Scrambling to her feet, she physically wrenched herself away from him and then traversed dazedly across the floor and towards the exit.

"You will come back?"

Hermione didn't make any promises in her haste to leave the confusing place which prompted her to act not quite like herself.

It was only later that she realized something earth-shattering—he _hadn't_ hurt her.

**~*OoOoO*~**

She wouldn't return.

It was absolutely imperative that she didn't.

A line had been crossed, and now that the boundary had been breached, she was fearful of what she might be propelled to do next.

She ignored the mail on the counter of her flat, taking off her coat and letting it fall noiselessly to the ground as she sought the sanctuary of her room.

She would tell Clemmens in the morning she would no longer work the case—that the patient had become difficult. No one would be angry with her—it was all what they thought already. Only—

Only that would hardly be fair to _him_.

She'd made some real progress with Malfoy. He was talking with her when he had refused to do so with others. She was _special._ The thought made a flicker of triumph swell up in her chest.

But still.

She needed to look after herself first and foremost.

When she remembered the abyss she'd almost hurled herself into, she grew fearful. What if she somehow lost sight of herself—lost sight of her reasons for doing this? It was almost as if the slate of her mind was washed clean whenever she met with Malfoy. It was an exercise in complete futility to remember what it was she was supposed to be doing.

He was just so engaging.

And so charming.

Not to mention knowledgeable.

And sweet Morgana, but if he wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

She _definitely shouldn't_ return. She resolved to Owl Clemmens immediately for a meeting in the morning so she couldn't have a moment of weakness and back out.

But in the end, she was helpless to keep the promise she made herself.

He was like a drug, and she _desperately_ needed him.

She dressed mechanically in the morning, taking little care in her appearance and staring into hollow eyes. He was an addiction, and she couldn't resist the pull to him even from miles away.

**~*OoOoO*~**

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday. That was unfair of me to blur the lines between Healer and patient." She tentatively met his eyes, afraid of what he might say, but they were open and honest.

Malfoy scowled instantly. "You're a _good_ Healer. You know what your patient _needs_."

Hermione smiled softly at that. "Yes, but the rules are clear."

"Bugger the rules." He leaned forward and likely would have grasped her hand if she hadn't taken the care to enact the binding spell out of routine. She hadn't bothered erecting the wretched ward; it was silly to do so now when he had her explicit trust. "I'm worried about you."

"What are you worried about me for? You're hardly in a position to spend time worrying about others."

"It makes me angry the way your friends use you."

Her eyes fluttered shut and she instantly regretted answering questions about her friends. It was embarrassing to admit how she really felt about them.

"They take advantage of you," he continued earnestly. "Taking it for granted that you will simply be there if and when they need you. That's not a friendship. They're using you."

She ate his words hungrily, she needed to hear them! She needed someone to understand and be empathetic. For so long she'd carried her friends, fostered most of the ideas, and when it was all said and done, she was the one left out in the cold. Didn't she deserve happiness just like them?

"They don't appreciate you," he continued on, speaking words she should not find so much comfort in hearing. Then, so soft she had to strain to hear, "I would appreciate you. I would _cherish you._ "

"Malfoy." She doubted her voice came out as scolding as she meant for it to. "I think solitude has addled your brain."

"I think complacency has addled yours," he quipped back.

Dear God.

That was her greatest fear! Becoming so complacent she no longer yearned to discover cutting edge magic, or wanted to learn! What if she lost her spark, lost her desire? She stared dazed at him, unable to bring herself to care that there would be no question how thoroughly his words had impacted her. She was laid out threadbare and vulnerable. Alarm bells rang in her head, prodding her to move - to flee! - but she couldn't bring herself to heed the advice.

She had briefly wondered if he'd break out into a smug smile at her obvious distress, but only kindness could be found in his eyes, far from the usual maliciousness she'd used to see back in their school days.

"They restrict knowledge from you, Granger. They've so effectively shut down avenues for learning, you're happy to accept what little they claim they have locked away, thinking you're privileged, but really they have you trapped. Do you honestly want them to hold that much power over you?"

Hermione leaned forward on the table, she was inches from him now. She was toeing the line again. The abyss might not be a tangible place, but in that moment, it couldn't feel more real.

"Malfoy," her voice was husky thanks to the tears that had formed in her throat. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm telling you—you're just as much of a prisoner as I am. You live the same loop every day, deluding yourself into thinking you're free, but the fact is—there's so much kept from you."

A scant few inches—that's all that separated them. She felt lightheaded just by the sheer nearness of him.

"I wouldn't keep _anything_ from you. I'd share everything I know."

His lips found hers with a violence that both shocked and rocked her to her very core. She allowed it, submitting to her desperation and need. She didn't stop to expound on the insanity of it—the heat of the moment betrayed her and she couldn't help submitting to him fully. Adrenaline pumped in her veins as if readying herself for a fight. She moved with him instinctively, keeping up with his brutal pace, and gods—it was _perfect_ —exactly what she needed.

Somehow she knew it would be.

Dizziness surged hot and alive in her head, as sparks shivered down her spine. The rapidly approaching chasm, the dark void in her mind's eye, ran up to meet her like an old friend and she threw herself over with abandon, feeling no fear as she freefalled into the unknown.

She was giddy and elated.

Ink spilled on the table as she pulled herself over the smooth surface and onto his lap. She paid no mind to the forgotten quill that fell to the ground. Her head was consumed with entirely new sensations as she straddled him, and threaded her fingers through his hair in order to pull him closer. She wanted him to touch her, but her wand was too far away from _him_ and she could hardly get her senses together enough to release the restriction spell in the first place.

And if his teeth tore too harshly, she didn't mind—she _relished it_.

A tendril of desire flared low in her abdomen and she let it rule her, let it guide her. With a groan, he deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers with so much aggression, she could barely breath, and she was forced to break away, panting for much needed air. Blinded by white, hot desire, she blinked several times before she saw the smoldering silver eyes that looked back at her, sparkling with a crazed gleam that mirrored her own.

"You want to know about the Death Eater activity?" he asked her breathlessly.

She...what?

Did she? She could hardly remember. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to pick up where they'd left off.

"I…" she began tremulously.

"They will rise again.."

The words should make her feel ominous—shouldn't they? Then why did the idea equally repulse and intrigue her? She shouldn't be divided in her desire. She just didn't understand, that was all…

She was confused.

She wracked her brain frantically in a desperate attempt to get her thoughts an order. Hot pain burned at the back of her skull with the abrupt change in direction.

"They'll...rise again?" A stunned expression exploded across her face as the meaning of his words dawned on her. "I have to tell the Aurors. You must tell me how...by what means."

"I can't exactly tell you, but I can show you."

"Show me?" He was suggesting something, something that should probably cause her to be careful... _fearful_.

But surprisingly, she couldn't dredge up those feelings no matter how hard she tried.

She was inexplicably fearless.

"You have to sneak me a wand, preferably one with Runespore or Thestral blood."

She didn't stop to wonder why he was asking for a wand with _that_ kind of core, or that he was asking for a wand at all. They really would rise again, inevitably meaning that a Dark Lord would rise to rule them. Could there have been a horcrux they didn't know about? Was Voldemort living in a pitiful existence somewhere, feeding off of the blood of unicorns while he bided his time? She knew what would happen if she went about it the legal way—there would be an outrageous amount of loopholes to jump through. Meanwhile, the dark movement would not stop to wait for them. They would be wholly at a disadvantage.

A thought flickered madly across her brain, one that she could never repeat! The only thing she could do was erase it completely from her memory. Or try to. _An opportunity._ Oh! The thought was relentless. _To right a wrong. To learn that which was withheld._ She clamped down on her mind and mentally wrenched the evil notion from her brain.

Her intentions were good.

She would not be tempted, no matter how seductive the idea was.

She looked back to face Malfoy who'd been watching her intently.

He leaned close, whispering against the skin of her neck, eliciting a shiver down her spine. "All you need to do is bring me the wand tomorrow. I'll do the rest."

"If I'm implicated…"

"You won't be."

He was so sure. That was comforting, wasn't it?

"But if—."

"All would be forgiven once you brought proof to Potter, now wouldn't it?"

She swallowed, her hands falling from his shoulders and down to her lap.

"That is, you do want to stop the movement, don't you Granger?" His eyes sparkled knowingly.

"Of course I do!"

"There are options. I leave the decision up to you."

Despite her propensity to advocate for all things just, regardless of her rather immaculate history of always doing the right thing, and constantly looking out for others, she couldn't help but consider what would happen if she veered from the path just slightly. She wasn't foolish, she understood the ramifications. It was only that she didn't _know_ , and the feeling that she was missing something important was heartbreaking.

Knowledge.

Power.

The thought was enticing. Everything she felt she had missed out on, she would have the chance to learn, and then she could decide for herself if it was truly and wholly _bad._

But she wouldn't of course.

She would prevent the third resurfacing of dark wizards, because she always made the _right_ choices.

Malfoy's lips twisted into a wry smirk, and if it was slightly more maniacal than it should be, she _chose not to notice._ Of all the thoughts that flitted through her brain, one was more prevalent of them all—she was immensely pleased she had pushed for the case.

**~*OoOoO*~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my alphas SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 & Sandra-Sempra C: and thanks so much to MrBenzedrine for Beta'ing this piece C:

 

**~oOo*oOo~**

Her hands were clammy as she tried to keep them from slipping off of her skirt, walking briskly down the white hall.

The wand - with a Thestral blood core - hung heavily by her side, as if it weighed a ton. She tried not to think about the reason why he'd asked for a wand more susceptible to dark wizards. Obviously, he was a wizard with much practice in the Dark Arts; it stood to reason that would be the wand he would select.

She felt physically sick to her stomach.

Was this to be her decision, then? It was clear that if she stepped into that cell with one extra wand by her side _she was making a decision._ There would be no pleading innocence after that. She would become liable. Did she really hope Malfoy would hold to his word and somehow not implicate her - blame the fortunate arrival of a spare wand on one of the many other visitors he entertained on a daily basis? Fat chance of that!

If she did this, it would mean she was _with him._ No matter what turn the situation took, she would have to see this through. It would be up to her to make sure the situation didn't spiral out of control. There was a purpose to all of this - the Death Eater activity: that was the end game after all.

Except, that wasn't the only thing that drove her when it so glaringly should have been.

There was also the small matter of how desperate, how sick she was to learn all that Malfoy had teased in front of her. She wanted badly to know all of his secrets! The scholar inside of her craved the information as if it was life-saving sweet air to breathe. She was so effectively torn between her well-meaning intentions and her selfish desires.

Sweat began to culminate on the back of her neck.

Dear God, what was she doing?

She should turn back now—she shouldn't even think about it. She should go to her office and ask for a transfer—move to a different city and pretend this never happened.

But he'd asked it of her.

She caught her lips between her teeth. Sweet Morgana, when he asked her to do something, she was bloody helpless to deny him. There was something about him...something charismatic and electrifying that wouldn't let her say no. It was quite worrisome that he should have such an effect on her, but he did, and now what was she to do?

If she was caught, it could mean _The Kiss_ , not only for _her_ but for him as well.

She should turn around while there was still time.

Her feet wouldn't stop moving until they reached the end of the hall.

This was crazy! She was actually doing this, and it felt very much like betrayal. Yet, when the faces of her friends flashed before her eyes, it wasn't enough to cause her to change her mind. If anything, it made her somehow _strengthened her resolve_.

_Very good, Hermione. You're already a monster._

**~oOo*oOo~**

Draco sat against the wall, his shirt discarded on his cot. His head was bowed to his lap, resting against his interlocked fingers as he waited patiently.

It had been so long since he'd been out of captivity. There were things about the world he could no longer recall, like the feel of the sun on his back or the savory scent of an expensive meal. He'd waited, and he'd bided his time, but now it appeared he may finally have an out. Granger would come through for him like a good little Mudblood, and he would be free of this place.

His patience was wearing thin.

She should have been here by now. Was she getting cold feet? What would Draco do if she failed him? There was no way he could suffer more years here; he'd beg for death, and a Malfoy _never begged._ She simply had to come—he simply had to get out of here. It was a crime to keep him caged off from his magic. His magic needed to be flexed - pity the wizard that stood between him and reclaiming his magic.

His heart soared when he heard familiar footsteps clicking across the marble floor.

Granger had come like she promised.

When she waved her wand to make the doorway she used to step through to his cell appear, he was struck by how petrified she looked. Her eyes immediately found him, and she momentarily paled, her eyes moving slowly down his head and his chest before climbing slowly back up, this time measurably hooded.

She swallowed convulsively before taking a step towards him and bending down to the floor, hovering above her ankles as she placed his new wand just a few feet in front of him. He could not help eyeing her legs as her skirt rode up to her mid thigh. Oh how he would enjoy his little, obedient Mudblood.

The sound of the wood hitting the floor seemed to startle her, and she jumped up as if struck before backing towards the door. She didn't say anything as she turned around and fled through the opening, neglecting to close it behind her.

Draco smirked. She was probably running to seal herself up in her office as he'd instructed to do. She was such a good listener. She hadn't uttered one word to him, but that was alright—there would be plenty of time for words later.

His eyes slowly drew down to the pale, ash wand that lay on the white surface. It was calling to him. With inquisitive fingers, he reached for it and raised it in the air, testing. His long-oppressed magic surged through him in an almost overwhelming way. But it was bound, and there was something blocking—in the way of him summoning it to the surface. Draco pushed against the invisible, stringent bindings and willed his magic to break through the barrier, smiling with glee when he felt the rush of his magic flood through him.

He let it roll off of him in dark, chaotic waves, relishing in the familiar comfort of _power._

It unfurled around him, inquiring and probing and angry to have been so effectively cut off. It was almost arduous to wield, the force of his power causing him to stagger backwards. He needed to channel it somewhere, or else he would explode in his efforts to contain it—it was that riled up!

Clenching his jaw, he forced the brunt of his power to attack the wards on the entire floor, allowing his magic to rush through the corridor in its enthusiastic efforts to obey him. The strong tide of magic ripped through St. Mungos security measures as if they were childsplay, rendering them ineffective and thrillingly obsolete.

Then, he replaced them.

It would never do to have Aurors suddenly capable of Apparating in one by one and attempting to stop him. No, he erected wards of his own so that only he, and those he decided, could pass through them.

It was all ridiculously easy.

Granger had really gotten him an impressive wand. That, and he was a rather impressive wizard.

Not bothering to put on his tunic, he stepped out into the glaringly white ward for the first time in years. As he expected, no remnant of the boundaries that caged him were left. Pleased with his actions, he cut his wand sharply through the air, summoning a red ball of energy that buzzed and vibrated in front of him.

"The wards in St. Mungos are down," he intoned to the magical force. "Come to me."

With another flick of his wand, the ball was gone in an instant flash of white light to deliver his message.

Soon, his followers would arrive, and then the fun could begin.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione heard the ruckus.

She heard the clash of curses and could taste the terror in the air as the few workers who had offices on Ward C fought frantically to get away.

She should get help.

Even though she was all alone in her office and had the benefit of not being swept up into the surprise attack. But it had been her that had started the surprise attack - that had orchestrated it - and because of that, she was paralyzed where she sat.

The promise of inside information on newly surfacing Death Eater activity had been appealing. She told herself that was what had moved her to acting so rashly in the first place, but when that argument failed, it was another that swayed her.

Hermione wanted to know - she wanted desperately! - she _craved_ the inside information on how to wield such power more than she had anything. It was almost drugging. Really, that should have been enough to alarm her alone, but again, she was helpless but to give into temptation.

How long was the battle going to rage for?

Perhaps it had been going hours, or minutes. Surely Malfoy should have been outnumbered by now and surrendering. She was torn in rushing outside to lend her magical capability to the orderlies, and equally to rush to Malfoy's defense against them. How terrible was she? Malfoy had done something to her, and now she was paralyzed into submission, heartlessly curious to see how it all played out.

Truthfully, she was getting a bit bored. Oh—how bad! She should be so... _hurting right now._ And if she was smart than she would be igniting the Floo and getting the fuck out of St. Mungos. The shame that she was doing this - that she was just sitting there - it was a new low and definitely something she should be angered by.

But a sadistic part of her wanted to be there for everything, refused to miss a single thing. That she should be so divided in her desire was a sign in itself: a sign that she should commit herself to Ward A of St. Mungos and not ever see the light of day again.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have fathomed sitting through something like this - a damned attack! - and doing nothing. Perhaps she was losing it. Maybe if he was crazy, then so was she. Sane people made deals that were _sanctioned;_ they didn't just break the law to see something happen they are sworn to fight against.

The sound of curses had ceased...and then came the moaning and the pleading and the begging.

Hermione could not make out the words, muffled behind the door, but she recognized them for what they were. Inexplicably, Malfoy was winning. And if she thought him attractive before, he was tenfold more so now. That he could overwhelm professionals trained to guard him...it was far too difficult to believe.

She should leave.

Shakily, she got to her feet and walked robotically to the Floo.

And just where would she Floo too? It would become so obviously apparent what she had done. The fact that he had not instantly left proved that he was lying about revealing the Death Eaters—didn't it? If his intentions were truly noble, then he would have left to procure the information he was Hell-bent on showing her. This proved that he had _lied,_ and so she should leave.

When she scooped the Floo powder in her hand, she hesitated before throwing it in the pit. The other part of her, the one that had rallied for this, was straining against her, begging her to stay—for educational purposes.

 _I'm mental,_ she thought in exasperation. _When did I become bloody mental?_

Even if she would have changed her mind again, at this point, it was too late.

The door burst open with all the vengeance of a dragon scorned.

She froze where she stood, her eyes quickly seeing past the wreckage and to where the figure of Malfoy stood, seeking her out. Her reluctance had cost her, her debating had _cost her,_ and now he was here, and there would be no escaping. Whatever Malfoy's true intentions were, she would soon find out.

**~oOo*oOo~**

She was leaving him.

So clearly was she caught in the act of escaping, Draco could not help but let his magic flare up in righteous anger. He'd expected it, of course, but to see it happen before his eyes was another thing.

Perhaps she would have made a good dark witch - _if_ trained at a young age - but now that she was older and stuck in her ways, and the dreamy scales had been removed from her eyes, it would be almost impossible to manipulate her. One did not stand a respectable chance against intelligence. As much as he would have preferred she be in his control, she was above his influence and therefore simply an obstacle in his way.

Draco knew well how to handle obstacles.

He had years of practice on his side.

If Granger needed to be disposed of so that he could advance his plans, so be it.

He had wanted to play with the witch - the idea had intrigued him! - but welcoming her into the folds along with those whom had been trained up at a young age and were undoubtedly loyal to the cause was out of the question. She might be smart and powerful and thirsty for the knowledge, but her deeply rooted morals would always interfere.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Pain.

Such blood-curdling, agony-inducing, _terrible_ pain slammed through her body.

She had been under the Cruciatus before, but never like this.

Her skin was tearing, and her nails were ripping. Her organs were filling with blood and then were bursting. Her eyelids were peeled back in terror, but all they saw was white, hot light. Insects burrowed in her chest, worming their way to vital organs already filled and stretched to capacity. They were crawling and scratching, and it bloody wouldn't cease! She was being stretched, and soon she would be severed, she was sure. That she was helpless made it all the more terrible. Because it was so real, the feelings and the pain, and she was useless to stop it.

_A little Cruciatus is good for you every once in awhile...keeps you on alert._

His words - Merlin! - the words of her tormentor.

Something couldn't be right with the person who could evoke such aching discomfort and do so again and again. It was _monstrous._ Yet, it was _effective_. She could feel little bits of pieces of herself splintering and then shattering, never to be heard from again! What if they were important pieces—pieces that mattered and were crucial to her very essence?

Is this what had happened to the Longbottoms? Were they tortured so close to the brink of insanity that they had finally catapulted themselves into the abyss? Hermione felt like she could see the ledge coming...suppose she jumped it? Then the turmoil of pain would stop, and there would be peace, however tragic a price it came by.

When the curse lifted, she felt empty and void. She fought to hold onto some emotion, but she came up disturbingly short. Her throat was raw, indicating she had probably been screaming nonstop, and she swallowed convulsively to keep from choking.

"Well done, Goyle," Malfoy's words of approval confused her. How could he condone her torture?

She glanced back to see his form approaching her until he was just shy of her head, towering over her supinated body. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and that shouldn't have been at the forefront of her mind, but it somehow was.

He was lean and muscular, elegant and sinuform. It was quite fascinating, actually, because she liked to watch the ripples of his muscles as he moved. She liked to hear the sound of his voice as he addressed his minions or followers or whatever they were. In a sea of never ending turmoil, ironically, it was his voice that grounded her, even if it wasn't exactly addressed to her—it made no difference.

"Crabbe," he spoke once more in a voice that commanded respect. "How about you try?"

It wasn't long before she was screaming and twisting under the agony that was Crabbe's curse. Tiny, but sharp, blades peeled at her, dissected her, unfolding her like layers of tropical fruit. It was so remarkably horrendous, and in that moment she would do anything to make it stop. She would promise and she would beg and she would mean it.

The pain was so unbearable, and her only focus was for it to end.

She would say anything for it to stop, for the curse to finally be lifted. Merlin, but she was appalled by the things she would do! Those parts of her, those noble and gallant parts of her had all been shattered, and she was helpless but to say anything she could to change her fate.

After what felt like centuries, the curse halted until it lifted completely, but that did nothing for the after-effects which were quite painful.

"Please, make it stop," she begged.

His form, towering over her and inciting fear from the power he wielded alone, provoked no other action but submission. "Do not ever proceed to make demands of me," he warned. "I am not yours to rule over, Little Mudblood."

"Begging," she rasped. "I'm begging...I'll do anything to make it stop."

Everything hurt, and that was perhaps why it was so easy to say what she needed to say, what should have been impossible to say.

His expression tightened but, somehow, remained peaceful, which Hermione found all the more insane. Terror blossomed through her, but she was beginning to feel numb from it.

"Your pleas are useless." Grey eyes with a devil-may-care glint met hers. "You were preparing to leave, and that constitutes betrayal."

"I hesitated," she cried, arching her back against her desk as she tried for the hundredth time to break her binds. "I didn't want to leave...I was frightened."

"There is no room for that, Granger."

Hermione knew he was right. Malfoy would not respond to begging out of fear. Somehow, she knew he wanted something else entirely, even if he may not yet know himself. The provocative idea gave her a sense of power she hadn't felt since her torture began. What if she could appeal to him another way?

"You promised me you would _show me..._ you said you would _teach me._ " She struggled to gulp for air in her aching throat. "I did everything I promised. I got you _out_ ," she stressed. "Are Dark Wizards prone to reneging on their word?"

It was hard to deliver the words, let alone to say them clearly, but the remnants of her sanity relied on it.

Her gaze was transfixed on his, and she felt like she was spiraling, seeing him upside down as she was. For a brief moment, the manic look in his eyes gave way to something faintly sorrowful.

"I'm sorry, Granger, but I do think it's too late. One needs to study the Dark Arts whilst they are still impressionable, and you, I fear, are not."

She rallied against the statement. _No!_ She wouldn't let him decide for it. Something foreign and feeling very much like her magic shimmered through her, angry and completely enraged.

"No," she promised, her perplexed magic unfurling across her body and testing the limits of her bindings. "I won't accept that...you can't go back on your word!"

Her magic stretched before snapping in a fury, simultaneously severing her bindings and causing her to rear up from the solid wood surface.

Dizziness surged in her head as she attempted to regain her composure. She felt wobbly and oddly drunk, the after effects of the Cruciatus occasionally causing a tremor. She turned on her spot, focusing squarely on the liar she had made the mistake of helping, but inwardly, she knew he was not lying about the way of the Dark Arts.

Gripping both sides of the desk to keep from falling, she skewered Malfoy with her gaze, his eyes widening in surprise by her display of magic even after laboring under the Cruciatus.

"You will teach me," she declared hotly, closing her eyes briefly against the stabbing ache in her head and sudden roil in her stomach. "You will tell me all you promised to."

He blinked and refocused, dawning acceptance flooding his features. "Do you really think you can make the switch, at this point?"

"I'm not _geriatric_ , Malfoy." Her pulse throbbed at her temples. "As you've told me before—I'm a competent witch."

It would have been better if she could have said so whilst still keeping the tremors at bay, but the Crucios had affected her, and she was helpless but to tremble every now and again.

"Prove it," he said, stepping around the desk to where he was facing her on eye level. "Show me you can wield dark curses and that you can inflict pain."

She swallowed audibly.

It was one thing to make a promise with words, but another thing altogether to back it with actions. Flicking her gaze between his challenging expression and his knowing smirk, she reached her hand out. "My wand, please."

Of all things, he handed her _his_ wand, the one she had only recently procured for him. "Granger, I think you'll find that this wand will suit your purposes much better."

Hermione fingered the unfamiliar wood - learning it - discerning if she would truly be able to use it as a tool. Merlin, but her life depended on it, and she wasn't clueless to what he was asking. He wanted her to call on Dark Magic - magic that would cause her blood to boil, that would tear at her soul. It was what she asked for, but did she have the courage to see it through?

Her eyes drew to Goyle whose smirk suddenly dropped, only just realizing the danger he was in. _Yes,_ she thought. _He will be first. He relished far too much in my pain._

She glanced at Malfoy once more for something, maybe even permission, before finding in his eyes the consent to continue.

She was so angry and she hadn't even called upon dark magic. It would be almost a simple task to aim an Unforgivable at the former Slytherin. If all that was required was rage and meaning, she had that in abundance!

Adrenaline exploding through her chest, she called on every ounce of power she possessed, channeling it into the strongest Cruciatus she could manage and aiming it at Goyle.

The powerful spurt of magic lurched from the borrowed wand jaggedly, piercing her target with rough precision and causing the wizard to fall to his knees in pain. It was a lot of work to hold such a steady stream of power, but she forced herself to do so—her life depended on it. _Better him than me._

"That's not exactly right, lovely." Malfoy lightly placed his hand on her wrist. "You shouldn't force it...only _will it..._ then you can better guide it, and it will not be so difficult."

Eyes strangely empty, she balled her free hand into a fist and tightened her fingers around the holly wand. _I want to,_ she persuaded herself. She jerked in surprise as the magic intensified, protruding from her wand in a steady stream of sickly, light green, assaulting her target and causing screams to rip from his throat. She felt the lingering touch of Malfoy's fingers on her wrist and derived confidence from his presence.

Power sparked through her as she intensified the curse.

It was...something magical.

The power that surged through her was like anything else, like something she only ever felt when performing particularly strong magic, yet so much stronger than even that. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the amazing rush of magic flooding through her, made so much better when coupled with her will and desire. It was too much to focus on one single person. Pressing and coaxing the magic until it was obedient to her will, she focused the hot beam of power on her other tormentor, Crabbe, and held it instead on him whilst she relished in the intoxicating rush.

It was really quite like nothing else she had ever experienced.

Before, it had been quite taxing for her to wrench such forceful magic from her wand. But this type of power was almost self-sustaining; it gave her such high levels of energy and made her feel like a mere beacon that magic passed through. The more she held it, the easier it became, until it crossed the thresholds of something close to addicting. The feeling of oblivion she felt far surpassed any other feelings that might have briefly flickered across her brain.

It was so much better to be powerful than always so _powerless._

"Enough," Malfoy demanded.

With much reluctance, she let her wand drop, satisfied when she saw both of her victims lying unmoving on the floor. A part of her hoped they were dead. If they were dead, they couldn't curse her anymore, and they certainly couldn't compete for Malfoy's attention.

"Perhaps you have some skill after all," he admitted.

She felt a chill sweep through her as his grey eyes became focused on her, and she didn't need to feign the tremble that passed through her. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time - as if weighing her strengths and weaknesses - and Hermione wished desperately not to come up short.

"You called upon too much."

As if on cue, she fell on her side before rolling to her back on the elegant birch desk. She was quite tired and so very weakened. She hadn't even noticed the strain expelling so much magic was putting on her. He walked back to his prior position, stopping in front of her so she had to peer at him upside down. It was quite disconcerting.

"Do you think you are a monster?" His hands drew to her aching temples, massaging them. "As soon as you do not fit into the position of normalcy they carve for you, you definitely become a monster in their eyes."

His words rang true. She couldn't explain it, but even before the traumatic events of the evening, she had always felt that way. She had never fit into the slot she was supposed to neatly fold herself in, and it was time she admitted it.

His grip on her head grew tighter. "I told you - and I meant it - that you would make a powerful Dark Witch." Guilt whispered down her spine, but with it came impossible joy. "That you have proven today." His eyes roved down her body, unhinged and slightly hungry. "But tell me, Granger, why should I instruct you?"

A moan permeated the air to their left, but Malfoy ignored it, so she did also.

Her knackered mind struggled to produce a suitable reason for joining him. "Because I want to learn...to become your prodigy...because I want to be with you."

Panic clouded her thoughts at the inherent truth of her words, but she squeezed her eyes shut rapidly against the storm and quelled her inner turmoil. Tendrils of fear shot down her back as he stared at her, his hot metal gaze causing her to grow groggy. She was hardpressed to keep her eyes open. She didn't particularly trust him, and from the way he looked at her, it was clear he didn't particularly trust her, or at least was unsure of what to make of her.

Profound relief flooded through her when he neglected to reach for his wand. Being with him felt _good,_ even if it signified putting her very head in the dragon's mouth.

His hand tangled rather ferociously in her completely ruined hair. He fisted and then he pulled, but Hermione did not so much as squeak. "Don't promise me this thoughtlessly," he warned. "If you choose to go this route, you do so completely aware of what you're sacrificing."

Lost for words, she merely nodded.

"And what would you be giving up?"

"Everything," she breathed. "I would give up everything."

Now that she made her decision, nowhere was safe. Her life had shifted so completely and it would never be the same.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was a paradox.

So sweet and so helpful and so stubborn.

It was actually kind of appealing.

It wasn't just her stunning beauty that captured his interest, but her intelligence. There was something pure...something honest about the way she approached life...approached her magic. He found so much about her attractive that he could not simply ruin her as he had planned. Perhaps she was prodigy material; perhaps she possessed enough wit to learn and adapt.

She had something more, and he was drawn to it like a niffler to gold. Hermione was a puzzle, and unfolding her many layers would be half the fun.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The Patronus purged the immediate darkness of Harry's dimly lit office.

 _Trouble at St. Mungos,_ it told him simply.

His stomach clenched sharply. St. Mungos...Hermione was there! Or at least he expected her to be. It had been a while since he had spoken to her. Truthfully, he was not a hundred percent sure of what her shift was anymore - it had been a while since they spoke - but there was a good chance she was there.

And even if she wasn't, it was his duty to respond regardless.

Reaching for his wand, he swished it through the air and Apparated himself swiftly to the entryway of St. Mungos.

He instantly felt a dark and menacing presence assault him. He tightened his hold on his wand and searched for the threat, but he came up with nothing. Whatever the disturbance was, it wasn't immediately visible. Harry felt dread flare up in his chest.

He shouldn't have let things sit and fester between him and Hermione. It had been far too long since they had spoken, and it was abundantly clear she was avoiding them. He really should have been more persistent in seeking her out. What if she was in danger, and he'd failed to take the time to talk to her? The eternal pessimist that he was grew worried he may have missed an opportunity. Damn Ginny and Ron and their insufferable need to throw shit out into the universe. He wouldn't forgive them if this caused a rift between him and Hermione he was unable to bridge.

He heard several more pops alerting him that his fellow Aurors had joined him. He tread carefully to the elevator lift.

"This way," Harry motioned to his team.

Together, they headed to the lift and then continued up the floors. When they stopped at Ward C, Harry knew instinctively that this was the place where the disturbance was caused. For some reason, his pulse throbbed sporadically the closer he got. Why would Ward C cause his heart to race so?

And then it hit him.

Ward C was only occupied by offices and one single person.

One Draco Malfoy.

Sodding Hell. His feet couldn't take him down the Ward fast enough.

**~oOo*oOo~**


End file.
